Over the Counter
by JabberW00kie
Summary: Shenlong meets a young bartender who gives him a helping hand, both in getting back on his feet and in discovering who he is. ShenlongOC, Het.
1. Chapter 1

Author Note: This will be a multi-chapter Shenlong/OC romance, with lots of fun character development. Other BR chars wont come in until later in the plot, but some of them'll show up eventually.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bloody Roar or any of its characters, and I'm not making any money off of this.

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Shenlong pressed his face against the slick lacquer of the bar, and wished that he could tear through it and burrow into the wood below. Wanted to get smaller and smaller until he could disappear into the warm dark pores of the petrified oak. Wanted to be a termite so that he could tear and burrow and not care that there were a million other termites just like him, but bigger and stronger and better.

He stopped thinking about his future career prospects as a bug when somebody took away his beer.

Shenlong raised his head and fixed the offender with a bleary glare. It wasn't nearly as impressive as it used to be. That bothered him, in the small corner of his mind that wasn't busy with termites and people taking his beer away.

The bartender had settled both elbows on the counter, and was dangling Shenlong's beer out of reach with her left hand. The tiger stared at her, looking oddly like a sulky child. The bartender thought that it was endearing, but he didn't look like the kind of man that would appreciate being told that. So she didn't.

"I think you've had enough for tonight, mister." Most bartenders were brusque when they cut off a customer, but the woman's voice was strangely kind. She'd been in her business long enough to tell the difference between a worthless drunkard and someone who truly needed to forget, and the man in front of her seemed strangely fragile.

Shenlong kept glowering at her, hoping that if he could keep his eyes focused on her face for longer than a minute she would decide that he wasn't _that_ drunk after all, and would give him back his beer. He couldn't, and she didn't. Instead, she set it down behind the bar with a clink and pulled up a stool.

"Enough drink, at least. Not enough company. This is the third night in a row that you've been in here, stranger." She informed him softly, slumping her upper body on the bartop next to him. "Third night in a row, and you've not talked to a soul. Haven't even _looked_ at anybody, either." Her voice was soft and gentle. "So tell me your story, stranger."

Shenlong stared at her, old paranoias seeping through his mind. She'd been watching him, then. What did she want? Had someone recognized him and asked her to delay him while the police arrived? His brain fuzzily sorted through the options, and he discarded each one. If she'd wanted to distract him, she would've just left him alone with his beer. He hadn't been planning on leaving any time soon. He mustered some of his old hostility for a reply.

"Why should I tell you anything?" He muttered in a half-hearted growl. "Human filth." He watched her muzzily, hoping she'd recoil once she realized that he was a _freak_ and give him enough time to snitch his beer back from behind the counter. To his surprise, she laughed. In his face. In truth, is was more of a fond chuckle, but Shenlong had never been laughed at before. He didn't like it.

"Somethin's wrong with your nose, stranger. Take a good whiff." She propped her chin on the counter and grinned at him.

Now he was a little interested. A zoanthrope, then? Or just a delusional primate? He leaned forward, the copious amount of liquor that he'd consumed loosening his inhibitions, and brushed his nose past her collarbone while taking a deep breath. He wanted to make her uncomfortable, make her go away, and she jumped a little. _Ha_, he thought. _I win._ But she didn't move away.

Soft, silky skin against the tip on his nose. A heady, subtle smell; tall grass under the sun, fermented grapes and sweat and animal. She was one of his kind, then, but he couldn't tell what. He'd never encountered one of her race before, whatever it was. Horse, maybe? He drew back, wobbling slightly, and opened his mouth.

"You smell-" weird, like prey, like shit- "You smell good." He clamped his mouth shut on the sigh that almost followed the words. His scowl darkened and he leaned further back, frustrated with himself and a little embarrassed. He hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant that. She looked almost as surprised as he did, and then gave him a grin and leaned over the counter after him.

He flinched away, half expecting a blow, pressing himself into his chair as her face came closer. His stomach flipped over when her cheek brushed past his, soft and warm and clean, and she took a few short little whuffs in his hair. His mind babbled at him the whole time. Nobody touched him, unless they were hurting him—poking him with needles or claws or fists. But she was just smelling him, her cheek pressing against his and her warm breath brushing over his sensitive eartip and making his abdomen tighten in the strangest way. She settled back in her seat and her skin slid across his and he had to bite back a whimper, not sure if it was a reaction to the sensation or to the loss of the amazingly sweet contact.

He stared at her from across the counter. Olive skin on a heart-shaped face too charming for a bartender. Eyes almost eerily large, liquid black iris almost indiscernible from the huge pupils. _Prey eyes_, a voice hissed in the back of his mind. Snub nose, pointed ears, no makeup. Light brown hair in a low ponytail. His brain was working a bit better now; he saw her throat work as she swallowed before speaking, the slight flush to her cheeks. Tasted the lie before she spoke it.

"Well, _you_ certainly don't smell good. When was the last time that you took a shower, stranger?" She asked, lips quirking as she tried to diffuse the feeling suddenly buzzing in the air. It helped a little. Not much, though. His stomach was tight, his head spinning from more than alcohol. He thought about her question.

"I- a few days. Didn't pay the rent, and lost my apartment. Been bar hopping." How long had it been? He had plenty of money. Why hadn't he made the payments? He'd just forgotten, he realized. He'd stopped caring, and started waiting to die. He'd never really existed in the first place, so might as well make it official.

He was very drunk; he'd been that way for nearly three days. He shook his head, trying to pull free of the mist that he'd welcomed moments before. It suddenly seemed frightening, like a funeral shroud. What was he _doing_?

It must have shown on his face, in the burgundy eyes that suddenly glowed with desperation instead of malice and insanity. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he leaped out of his chair only to stumble and lean against the bar. The hand returned and he blinked at it, slowly, waiting for it to grow hair and claws and rip into him. It didn't. He followed in to a slim wrist, up an arm dusted sparsely with light brown hair, to a shoulder and a face that despite all of its softness was looking straight at him and pulling him out of the mist like an anchor.

"I'm Del. You're coming home with me, stranger."

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To be continued...

This is my first Bloody Roar fic, so constructive criticism is greatly appreceated. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Shenlong watched blankly as Del moved away, finishing the final cleanup for the night. It was late, well past midnight, and they were the only two people left in the dim, medium-sized bar. The woman vanished into the back with an armful of dishes, and reappeared empty-handed several moments later. She wiped down the counter and then hopped easily over it, and then walked from table to table setting the chairs upside-down on top of them.

Shenlong eyed her as she moved. Now that she wasn't behind the bar, he was able to get a better look. She was in her early twenties and was small for a woman of her age, but at the same time her limbs were quite long in proportion to her body. Despite her lankiness, she didn't move awkwardly, instead maneuvering her way around the tables with equine grace. Shenlong felt his upper lip curl. _Prey_.

She scooped up a worn duffel bag and hooked it over her shoulder, then settled down in the chair next to his.

"So- what's your name?" Shenlong's mouth moved before he gave it permission to do so.

"Shenl- Shen." Why was he still talking to her?

"Well, Shen, are you coming home with me or not? I'm a decent cook, and I've got a nice, big shower." He hesitated over the offer, torn between the instinct to pull away and the lure of warm water. He was out of his depth here; people hated him, hurt him, and tried to kill him. They weren't _nice_ to him. They didn't offer to _help_. He didn't know how to deal with it.

So he reverted to a reliable self-defense tactic. Being an ass.

"Well _gee_," he slurred at her, the alcohol making him unable to drawl and smirk as he would've liked to. "I usually don' go home 'till leasht the third date. How do I know you're not plannin' to take advantage of me?" He didn't say no. He was uncomfortable. He was a little scared. But he couldn't make himself say no.

He expected her to stiffen, to draw back and glare. But she didn't. Instead, she laughed for the second time that night.

"Shen, you're drunk, dressed like a hobo, and smell like a wet cat." _A yummy, masculine, wet cat_, she thought, _but he doesn't need to know that_. "Trust me, your honor is safe." She stood. "You coming?"

Normally, he would've replied to that with a snarky comment, or a snarl, but the alcohol was weighing down his thought process. As he pushed up out of the seat, he told himself that he was going with her because he wanted food and a shower. _Not _, he told himself, _because she's warm and sweet and soft and looking at me with big dark eyes. _The floor shifted underneath him, and he stumbled, feeling nauseous. He hadn't had _that_ much to drink, had he? Enough to make the bartender cut him off...

A warm arm slipped around his waist, and a soft form pressed against his side, tugging his arm gently in an invitation to let her support him.

_Touch! Danger! _

Shenlong gave a choked snarl and hurled himself away, reacting sharply to the sudden contact. Was she attacking? The position wasn't a prelude to any type of throw that he was familiar with, but she must've been planning something, she wouldn't come near him otherwise. He crouched next to the nearest table, eyes feral as he panted slightly. He'd hardly ever been touched outside of a battle or a lab. Only once or twice, brushing shoulders with a stranger on a plane, shaking hands. No real contact. He waited for her to come after him, to attack him.

She didn't, though. She stood where he'd left her, the surprise on her face slowly bleeding into sympathy. She crouched down and held her arms out towards him, speaking softly.

"Somebody messed you up good, didn't they? C'mon, now, darlin'. I was just trying to straighten you up so we can walk to my place, hey?" She murmured, her voice low and soothing. He crouched, half under the table, hands up and shielding his face as exhaustion and alcohol and the deep depression that had made him try to _will_ himself to death squeezed like a fist around his heart and lungs. Del kept up her gentle murmur as she settled to her knees and slowly moved forwards, steadily, hands reaching imploringly towards him.

"C'mon, Shen, let's go. I've got a warm meal and a shower, and then you can sleep for as long as you want, in a real bed. Let's get out of here, okay? You'll feel better, I promise." He flinched away from the first touch of her fingers on her shoulders, trying to stop himself from trembling. She gently, slowly, slid her left arm around him and drew him up and away from the table. He stumbled along with her, stiff, not sure what to do with his arms and legs.

Luckily for him, Del was used to managing all sorts of drunks, even violent, contact deprived ones. She shifted under his right arm, tugging it across her shoulders, and supported his waist with her left. She fit perfectly under his bicep, a cushioned heat against his side. Shenlong shook slightly as she moved him towards the door, torn between pressing closer and fleeing. She kept talking, distracting him from his fragmented thoughts.

"There we go. See, I'm not going to bite. My apartment's pretty close, just down the street. I own the bar, so I live nearby." She paused to lock the door on her way out, and then resumed walking, slowly, letting Shenlong lean heavily against her. He wanted to run, strike her, grab her by the hair and sink fangs into her tender throat, bury his face into her shirt and pull her against him and- and what was he thinking? _I'm not thinking. I'm drunk._

Del led Shenlong down the street, turned the corner, and tugged him up a pair of steps to a greening copper gate. She fumbled in her purse for a moment, shifting against him, and the sensation of being _touched_ without being _hurt_ was so unusual that he had to stifle a gasp. Then she was unlocking the door and latching it behind them, pulling him through an alcove into a warm, cozy little apartment.

The tiger went stiff, twisting his head from side to side and sniffing at the new area. He pulled away from Del with a low growl, and stalked around the flat, weaving as he checked behind doors and in closets. She watched him closely, arms folded over her chest, careful to not interfere while he convinced himself that the area was safe. After a moments hesitation—she had a feeling that the man wouldn't take well to being led like a child for a second time—she spoke up in a casual, friendly voice.

"Why don't you have a seat on the couch while I fix us something to eat? I don't have a TV, but you can check out the books-" she jerked her thumb towards the towering set of oak shelves that kittycornered the living room- "if you're into that sort of thing." The woman bit her words off before she started babbling at him, and then trotted into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. As Del rifled through the draws, trying to decide what to feed her new roommate, she heard several unsteady steps and then a solid thump. From the sounds alone, she couldn't tell whether he'd decided to sit upon the sofa or if he'd collapsed on it, although she guessed it was the latter.

She could tell from the scent of the man that he was some kind of cat, which made him a carnivore. He'd prefer meat to the fruits, grains, and vegetables that were the main components of her diet, so she tugged out the single package of hamburger meat stored in the back of the freezer.

Most humans would be startled to discover that the rarity of a true species coincided with the rarity of its xenomorph counterpart. While housecat morphs were fairly common, it was highly unusual to encounter a tiger or lion changeling. This, along with Shenlong's current unwashed and heavily inebriated state, caused Del to mistake him for one of his smaller brethren. Because of her error, she invited him into her home, which she may not have done had she discerned his true species.

Thus it was shown that the course of destiny can be changed due to a single man neglecting to shower.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Bloody Roar, its characters, storyline, or anything associated with it. Only the plot is mine.

AN- Here's the third chapter! Mainly due to the lovely reviews from 'The End of Infinity', whose encouragement I greatly appreciate. (Before I started posting my own stuff, I always thought that authors who claimed reviews helped them write were just making it up. Now I know better. ; P )

Anyways—constructive criticism is welcome, as is advice on keeping cannon characters IC! Thanks for reading!

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Shenlong sprawled on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness. Something in the back of his mind stirred rebelliously; he was relying on someone, trusting them not to knife him while he slept. Why wasn't he on his feet, mocking the silly woman for thinking that he, the most powerful zoanthrope to ever live, needed her help. _Not powerful. Copy. Patchy, smudged, imperfect- shutupshutupshutup!_

But her couch was cushy. And it smelled nice. Like popcorn. And-

"What the _fuck_?!" At her guest's startled yowl, Del bolted back into the living room, feet sliding on the carpet as she tried to turn the corner too quickly.

"Shen! What? What happened? Are you-"

There was a moment's silence.

"Oh- God- I forgot- hahahaha!" The young woman buckled over, clutching her midsection at the sight that greeted her. Shenlong was sprawled halfway off of the couch, every muscle in his body tense, as he stared in offended shock at the creature sitting on his chest.

The turtle blinked back at him, and then slowly tottered down to the floor. Shenlong held himself utterly still, vision blurring slightly as his intoxicated brain attempted to determine whether or not it was a threat. Del stumbled over, still giggling, and scooped the turtle up.

"Shen, meet Mr. Spock. Spockers, this is Shen." The turtle looked rather perturbed at being lifted into the air, and its four legs motored aimlessly as its head swung back and forth as if trying to figure out where the floor had gone. Shenlong blinked at the spectacle from his upside-down perspective, not sure what to make of the whole situation. He tugged himself into a sitting position and opened his mouth to tell the woman exactly what he thought of meeting 'Mr. Spockers', but before he could protest Del had plonked the turtle into his lap and was on her way back to the kitchen.

"You and Spock make friends, okay Shen?" She called over her shoulder. "He's a Herman's Tortoise. You two should get along fine." With that, she vanished around the corner, just as the smell of cooking meat wafted to Shenlong's nostrils. He sniffed at the air and licked his lips, and then turned his head to consider the tortoise perched on his knees. It tottered slightly and he put a hand on it's shell, steadying the animal before it fell. It was warm under his palm; alive. The tiger slowly ran his fingertips along the bumps and dips in its shell, and it stared back at him, eyes black and alien in a craggy, sharp face. Shenlong felt suddenly as if it were examining him, looking into him timeless eyes and—

—falling asleep.

The man stared as the tortoise retracted its head back into its shell and went out like a light. _I feel oddly insulted..._ Shenlong mused. He'd been having a _moment_, there, and the thing had completely ignored him. It pissed him off. _Hm... Isn't tortoise edible?_

But he wasn't going to hurt it, because whatever it was that Del was cooking smelled delicious. And while it may have been more _satisfying_ to eat the tortoise, he didn't think his self-nominated hostess would appreciate him making a meal out of 'Mr. Spockers'. In fact, he had a feeling that she'd protest. Violently.

Shenlong let himself slide down against the arm of the sofa, his eyes drifting closed at his mind wandered. He couldn't seem to concentrate on anything. Normally, even when he was drunk, he was hyper aware of his surroundings—but he'd always known that if he didn't take care of himself, no-one else would. Now he was warm, someone was going to feed him, and— _I'm so fucking sloshed... Acting like some kinda' pansy..._

The couch dipped slightly next to his and he jerked upright, hands coming up and curling into claws before Del's face swam into focus. Along with the pair of hamburgers on the plate she was holding. Shenlong leaned towards the food, sniffing hungrily, and the snatched the plate when Del offered it. His sudden movement upset the tortoise, which tumbled to the floor and then crawled off after shooting him a resentful look. Shenlong growled at the animal, and took a bite of the first burger.

The next thing he knew, he was doubled over, retching. Del rescued the plate before it overturned, holding it out of danger with one hand and rubbing his back with the other.

"Whoo, boy, you _are_ drunk!" She murmured. "C'mon, now, ride it out. The second bite wont be so bad, and you need to get something in your stomach." Shenlong moaned, buckled over and dry heaving at her floor. _Get something in my stomach? I'll stick my claws in your stomach, woman!_

She leaped up, and he heard her footsteps recede and then return. A cool cloth pressed against his head, and she pushed him back against the cushions with her other hand before reaching for the small table next to the couch. He didn't give her time to complete the movement. The feeling of her hand against his chest, pushing him down—_Holding me down! Attacking me!_—brought his most violent instincts to the forefront.

His nausea vanished and he lashed out violently, fingernails that were suddenly too long to be human scoring across Del's arm, knocking the hand holding the cloth to his forehead away and making her draw back with a yelp. He lunged at her, knocked her onto her back, and bodily pinned her to the couch. She cried out in surprise and thrashed, trying to break free of his grasp.

"Hey! What the hell do you think-" She froze, falling silent, as his lips brushed her neck. For a human, it would've been a caress; but the animal in both of them felt the razor sharp fangs behind the skin, and knew the gesture for the threat it was. Shen took advantage of her stillness to pin her hands with his own, completely immobilizing her. She remained still, fighting the urge to struggle, knowing that if he started to think of her as prey it would be all over.

Now that he was in control, Shenlong wasn't sure what to do. Rip her throat out? _No! I don't want to!_ So he hesitated, simply holding her down, where she couldn't hurt him, fangs hovering against her jugular and hands flexing and they pushed her against the cushions.

Del's mind raced. _What's he- why did he- I was just trying to get him to lie down, but he must have thought that I was trying to hurt him! _Instead of being frightened or angry, Del suddenly felt the need to put her arms around the man and rock him back and forth like a child. _Just a little gesture like that and he thinks I'm attacking him. What could have happened, to make him like this? _Del took a deep breath and spoke in a soft, cajoling voice.

"Shen, I was just trying to help you lie down. I'm going to try and hurt you, okay? I couldn't, even if I wanted to. You're twice my size." Del kept her voice soft and calm. "If you let me up, you can finish dinner and then take a sh-"

"Shut up." Shenlong huffed, fingers tightening over her wrists and too-sharp claws scraping the tender skin. Del went silent. Not because of the words, but because of the gold seeping into his eyes, because of the way that his pupils were contracting, twisting, from warm human orbs to a pair of vertical slashes.

Del was suddenly struck with the feeling that her new guest wasn't a housecat.


End file.
